Fandoms Unite!
by LostInFandoms
Summary: All the fandoms (I know it says it's a Doctor Who/Sherlock crossover but there's more of them than that) all get shoved into a room together and have to fight bad guys and stuff.
1. Chapter 1 - The Doctor

"So we're crashing?"

"Not so much crashing as… unexpected landing. Unexpected, uncomfortable landing I'm guessing." I told her, my impossible girl in her red dress. Honestly, did she not know me well enough by now to know that I do not crash, _I make an entrance_?

"It seems like that means the exact same thing. How long have you been driving this thing again?" Clara's big brown eyes were looking at me doubtfully. Her hair was falling around her shoulders. It had some kind of… appley scent to it. Sure, apples are great, but can you peel them and use their skin as a lethal weapon? I don't think so! Some fruits are cool, some are not. Clara just doesn't have my fruit sense. Grapes. _Now there's an idea_. I'm getting off subject again, aren't I?

"Long enough to know that I can't drive this thing. But if River could do it, then I can land us wherever we're landing at least partially alive." I flicked my hair out of my face. Why do I have this hair? It's _girl's_ hair. But I just can't seem to part with it. I've had better hair though. But I've _never had ginger._ Is it too much to ask to be ginger? Lots of my friends were ginger. Again, getting off subject.

"Remind me again, River's your…?"

"Wife. Well technically, she's my wife who is also my best friends child who conceived her on this TARDIS but then she was trained to kill me but then I married her and met the pre-me version of her who tried to kill me but ended up saving me. Then another time she did kill me, but then she went to look for the murderer whilst she was in the womb, but that's if you want to know the whole story..."

"Could you repeat that bit?"

"Which bit?"

"All of it?"

"It's not hard Clara, keep up! We've got about five minutes until we cra- unexpectedly land!" I checked the scanner. Hurtling towards us was the planet earth. According to my beautiful piece of machinery, we were destined to land in a construction yard, full of wet cement and everything. Oh, she was not going to like that. "It's all right baby, we're going to be fine. It may hurt a little, but we're going to pull through, like always…"

"Are you talking to your machine again?" Clara asked incredulously, catching me in the act of running my hands along the monitor.

"Hey, would you like it if I threw you towards the earth at a million miles per hour from another galaxy? It's because of things like this that she doesn't like you."

"She, is a spaceship!"

"A sexy spaceship." I whispered to the monitor. "Clara, you may want to hold on to something."

"You said we had five minutes!"

"I also said we weren't crashing. Rule one, the doctor lie-"

The whole TARDIS shook and I grabbed onto the controls – which is probably not the best idea. I pulled on the big green lever thingy that I never bothered to find out what it was for. It didn't really do much, just pulled down a little box. "So that's where my Jammie Dodgers went!" I exclaimed. Jammie Dodgers are good. They make good self-destruct buttons, and they're also very tasty.

Clara and I were thrown onto the floor as the impact hit us. "I think we may have landed." I told her. I pulled myself up, and briefly regarded the scanner. "Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no."

"What is it?" Clara asked, concerned.

"She's covered in wet cement! My baby is filthy!"

"Shouldn't we try and get her out before the cement dries?"

"That's probably a good idea. Aren't you clever, Clara? Clever Clara. That could be your nickname!"

"Doctor?"

"What gets rid of cement?"

"Doctor."

"I think I know someone on Amanopia who could do it…"

"Doctor!"

"Yes?"

"Why is the scanner beeping?"

Indeed, the scanner was beeping. And not in a very good way at all. 


	2. Chapter 2 - Sherlock

"I don't see what the fuss is all about."

"I thought you were dead. You absolute dickhead."

I sincerely strived to listen to the sheer nonsense emitting from John's mouth, but I couldn't draw my attention away from the bristly hunk of facial hair situated below his nose. "John, what are you wearing on your face?"

"What- the moustache?"

"Please tell me this is your ill-received sense of humour."

"Wha-?"

"You look ridiculous."

"I- I'm the one who's being ridiculous? You just announced that you're not dead and carted me off to America!"

"You came, didn't you?" he crossed his arms indignantly and avoided my gaze. We were in New York. Unsurprisingly, the plane journey had been cataclysmic. Worse than a dinner with Mycroft – I'd been sat next to a woman, (mid-thirties, brunette, and health lawyer) who had been telling her friend about her messy divorce and good-for-nothing husband – though her wedding ring with the inscription of her husband's name on, and her repeated enticing text messages she received from another name indicated that she was not entirely faithful herself.

The taxi driver had a photo of his deceased wife in the front of the cab, along with his children. Cancer. The woman wore a headscarf to hide the effects of the chemotherapy.

Strangely enough, John seemed like a… peaceful man. The state of his well-being at my 'funeral' had me doubting his ability to ride out the initial shock of my being gone. However, there he sat; facial hair and all. Receiving the odd text message from a girl called Mary. The name sparked some kind of recognition in my head. The flat was almost new. When I'd arrived there, he had just returned home (he'd removed his coat, but it was still very wet) from one of those pointless dates – though I have reason to believe this one was not as ill-fated as the rest, but a possible relationship could be formed (his attire was formal, the bill displayed a healthy proportion of John's income, and her lipstick stained unwashed wine glasses piling up in the kitchen sink). "So how is she?"

"Who?" John asked, bewildered.

"Your new partner."

"My new par-?"

"The one who's broken heel stabbed me in the foot when I entered the apartment, the one whose hair products are lined up in the bathroom, the one who's somehow persuaded you to buy that _ludicrous_ painting on the wall."

"You mean like… How is she… in b-?"

"Oh god no, John, I don't want the details about the intercourse. I was just trying to make conversation. I see now that that was a mistake."

Awkwardly, we waited in silence for the other to speak. Admittedly, I didn't comprehend how drastically things would change after being gone. I mean, of course, _John sported a moustache._

So remind me why we're here?" he asked.

"I've been receiving text messages and phone calls from someone… claiming to be a man that I know to be dead." He looked at me inquisitively. "Moriarty."

"So he's not dead?" he inquired.

"Don't be ridiculous John, I saw him die with my own eyes."

"I saw you die with my own eyes, but here you are now!"

"You did not see my die John. You thought you saw me die. Don't force me to explain the complicated visual trickery again. If Moriarty was to be alive, he would have had to defy the laws of science and the earth as a whole." I disregarded his argument. Moriarty was dead.

The taxi pulled up. "That'll be twenty three dollars and ninety cents please." called the taxi driver in a morose tone, holding his hand out for his money. 


	3. Chapter 3 - Castle

"Just picture it though. A murder themed wedding. It'd be so fitting! The guests arrive, anticipating the union of the couple who met whilst fighting crime together. When all of a sudden, the lights go out! A high pitched scream sounds from the bridesmaid's room. And it turns into real life version of Cluedo!"

"Castle," Beckett replied, "If that happens on our wedding day, you will be the one being murdered."

No imagination. I'm marrying a woman with _absolutely no imagination_.

We'd just been called from the arduous task of wedding invitations to look at a dead body. Beckett led us to your typical murder house – in the middle of the woods, three storeys, and moss creeping over the whole thing. It looked like the simplest touch would bring it crashing to the ground.

Inside was a kitchen (completely devoid of food) and a small living room, (with a moth eaten sofa and a couple of rocking chairs swaying slightly in the breeze… wait, breeze?).

We climbed the rickety stairs. The walls were decorated with some of the creepiest artwork ever, murders of children, rape scenes, and death in general. A chill ran down my spine as we reached the top of the stairs, probably because the window had been smashed, casting uneven shadows onto the ground. I peeked out of it – it was overgrown, dominated by weeds. Only a statue remained high enough to be visible over the jungle of dandelions. It was an angel, its face in its hands, as if weeping.

The house had three bedrooms and one bathroom. The bathroom was spattered with blood and the mirror had frosted over. One bedroom had millions of red waxed candles placed around the bed. Another had symbols and messages on it; you know the type you'd expect to see in a mental asylum? The third one had a giant collection of antique dolls, those creepy black eyes following us as we passed.

This was, without a doubt, the _best house ever_.

"Hey Beckett. Wanna hear my theory?" I asked excitedly.

"I never want to hear your theory." She replied dully. See? No imagination.

"Haunted house."

"No." Well, that idea was shot down rather quickly.

This house was the epitome of danger and death. I could just see the chapter now. _The dark shadows hung over the walls, whilst what little light there was danced over the sinister doll figures that stalked her every move, watching, wai_- "Beckett they have a scythe in the closet! Do you think the Precinct will let me keep it? How cool is this house? Can we have our honeymoon here?"

The way she looked at me gave me the feeling that that was a no for all of the above. She gestured for me to climb the stairs to the attic. "Murder in the attic… Slightly anti-climactic after the set up down here, don't you think?"

"Just get up the stairs Castle." Beckett ordered exasperatedly.

Lanie and Esposito were huddled around the unfortunate soul of the day. My little Irish leprechaun Ryan was with CSU.

"Esposito, my good man, whose corpse will we be viewing today?" I asked.

"Vic's a twenty-two year old white female; ID in her bag says she's called Francesca Collins, accountant, married to a Josh Collins." He informed us, referring to the blonde woman lying peacefully on the ground, as if asleep.

"How did she die?" Beckett inquired.

"No one knows." Lanie told us. "No cause of death yet. No stab wounds, no shot wounds, no ligature marks, no nothing. I'm gonna get her back to the lab and test for poisoning, but she doesn't show any of the usual symptoms of that, I'll have to do a full examination."

"Obviously, she was killed by a ghost." I told them. They all looked at me sceptically.

"Your second victim-" Lanie began, but I interrupted.

"There's a second?" I asked excitedly. "Beckett, you never said there were two! This is like Christmas come early!"

Lanie looked at me disapprovingly. "As I was saying, your second body leaves us with more clues. Another twenty two year old white female, single. She had ID, her name's India Gregory. Her things were scattered on the floor, like in these," she handed me the photos CSU had taken. A bag was lying on the ground, its contents spilling out onto the floor. There were keys, a phone, and a makeup compact.

"Where is she?" As far as the eye could see, there was no dead body. Lanie pointed towards an old, dusty wooden closet in a forgotten corner of the room.

She led us over and pulled open the doors. Inside was a woman with curly hair that had blood spattered and tangled into it. Standing upright. At first I thought she'd rose from the dead, (That would have been an _awesome_ case) but then I saw the broken shards of glass nailing her arms to the back of the closet, one through her throat, and one through her heart, dripping blood into a dark puddle on the floor.

"This is my all-time favourite case." I stated.

"'Scuse me, FBI." A voice sounded from beneath the floorboards. Two men emerged into the attic, holding FBI badges.

"Are you kidding me?" Beckett sighed.

One of the men was extremely tall, longish hair. The other was a lot shorter. "FBI agents Detective Plant and Detective Page, can we see the bodies?" the shorter one asked.

"Are you taking jurisdiction over the case now?" Beckett demanded.

"Um… Sure." The shorter one replied. "So where's the other one?" he asked, only seeing one of the bodies.

"I want to talk to your supervisor." Beckett ordered.

The taller one dialled the number on his cell and handed it to Beckett. She took it and stormed off to the other side of the room. We waited around with the FBI agents awkwardly. "So, um… what are the victim's names?" the taller one asked.

Espesito briefed the guy, and the smaller one went to look at the first dead body. After examining it, the two guys started whispering. I caught a few words, such as 'damn it', 'reaper', and 'cas'.

Beckett returned and threw the guy his phone. "Can we see the other body now?" the short one asked.

"We've gotta pack it up." she informed CSU.

"What did they say?" I asked her.

"They said that we have to clear out and leave them to their jobs." She said. "We'll come back later." She added in an undertone.


	4. Chapter 4 - Dean Winchester

It was around one at night. Sure, Kevin told the police to piss off, but they insisted on creeping around the place. So we came back later on, when they'd cleared off. We grabbed some guns from the Impala, and an angel blade just in case.

"I swear you shouldn't be doing this."

"I'm fine, Dean." Like hell he was.

"Look, man, you're still recovering from the trials, and instead of doing what a normal dude does when he has the day off sick, you're doing more goddamn research."

"And what do you think a normal guy does, Dean?"

"Sammy, Cas is managing his manhood better than you."

Sam pulled on the door. It was a creepy place, and believe me, we know creepy. It would have been a lot easier if we had a clue what we were looking for. There was some weird breeze in the living room. Blood in the bathroom. One bedroom had a load of those freaky dolls in. There was one clown doll. I had to. I crept up behind Sam and dropped it on his head.

"You freaking bastard!" he yelled. "What the hell man?"

"I couldn't miss this golden opportunity."

"Damn you."

One of the other bedrooms looked like a mental asylum, and the other was set up for a sex tape. We climbed up the ladders to the attic.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I shouted. The freakin' cops were back. They were huddled around the closet. I was about to start shouting again when another woman burst out from behind it, blood dripping from her eyes. "Spirit!" Sam shouted. I ran forward and shoved the two people to the ground. Sam got a clear shot of the ghost.

Her hair was all tangled and hanging over her shoulders. She had some white dress on that had a bloodstain running all down the front.

Sam missed.

She appeared next to me and the two cops. She grabbed my throat and shoved me up against the wall, constricting my throat. "Damn it Sammy, hurry up!" I coughed. There was the loud noise of a shot, and she dissolved into the air.

"Bitch!" I yelled after her.

"That," said the guy cop, "Was so totally _awesome._ Can I tweet that?"

"No!" I told him disgustedly.

"What the hell was that?" The woman demanded. She was pretty freakin' scary, I could tell she was one of those interrogators.

"None of your business; now get out of here." I ordered. "Sam, go get some salt from the Impala and take these two down."

"We're not going anywhere until you've explained what the hell that was!" the woman ordered.

"Suit yourself." I said regretfully. They wanna die, I'd be happy to shove their interfering noses into hell myself.

"It's obvious, isn't it? Ghosts exist."

"Don't be ridiculous Castle."

"C'mon! I challenge you to come up with a logical explanation for what just happened."

"Visual effects?"

"In a house like this? Really?"

Sam appeared through the hole that lead into the attic, carrying a huge bag of salt. "So I guess it was a spirit that killed that girl, but I don't know about the other on-"

Two dudes climbed in through the window into the attic, the only thing giving us any light. Whilst they climbed in, their shadows darkened the whole room. When they were stood upright, they looked at us in complete surprise.

People say Sammy and I have a height difference. They've obviously never met these guys. The taller one had dark curly hair, and the other one was wearing a sweater his Grandma must have knitted for him.

"I'm sorry," the shorter one began, "Are we interrupting something?"

"Kinda." I told them. I did not want a freakin' audience whilst I hunted.

The taller one took out a piece of paper from his pocket, and his eyes flitted over it. "This is definitely the right address…" he had a very low voice. They started arguing in an undertone so we couldn't hear them. From what I could hear, they were fighting like a married couple. Now I come to think of it, I'm pretty sure they were gay.

I was just about to tell them ALL to get the hell out of the house, when…

"Expelliarmus!" a shot of green light flew across the room from the entrance to the attic and hit tall guy in the chest. The piece of paper flew out of his hands.

"What the freaking hell?" I almost screamed. Sam took in some big gasp, being the ultimate nerd he is, seeing the three people stood there. They were late twenties, one chick and two dudes. One had some weird scar, the other was ginger. The woman had really bushy hair.

"Ron! You can't just shoot spells at muggles! Honestly!"

"Well, I'm a bit out of practice Hermione. Never thought we'd be going after this bastard again."

"Who are you? The scarred one asked the strange assembly of people watching him.

The tall, curly haired gay dude piped up, "John, help me. I can't think of a logical explanation for this. I think the fall broke me."


End file.
